


Requiem

by mikachan



Series: Sebastian x Ciel Drabbles & One-Shots [9]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Child Abuse, Cutting, Emetophilia, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Orgasm, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Omorashi, POV First Person, Scratching, Wetting, bc again its actually fitting, ciel is like 14 in this i imagine, fear wetting, forced cum swallowing, or maybe sebastian just fucks him too hard, spillingashes, yeah its fucked up youre warned ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikachan/pseuds/mikachan
Summary: I feel his teeth along my back, and they dance like river rocks. They are smooth, sharp, and damp… trailing a path of damned salvation that only I can feel. Only I can weep over them.





	Requiem

It hurts. It hurts with blinding, unthinkable agony. He etches cries of pain and sorrow into my soft, pliant skin. they are the cries that I am too frightened and stunned to say. Shock collects beneath his claws. Silence bleeds out like melting rivers. I can only bite harder at my hand, knowing that I am never strong enough to pull crimson from my veins as if it is soggy firewood. “Shhh,” he coos, even though I am barely breathing… barely thinking. He again rips my skin asunder, pulling at the flesh that clings uselessly to my thighs. He could peel it all off as though it is onion skin, if he wanted to. I wonder why he does not… I wonder why I let him have the chance.

I feel his teeth along my back, and they dance like river rocks. They are smooth, sharp, and damp… trailing a path of damned salvation that only I can feel. Only I can weep over them. I am bleeding, staining the white sheets with my life and my passions. It will dissolve into the bathwater soon, staining the glistening sparkle pink and oozing into the cracks in the marble. I am stinging and pulsing wherever the air can touch me, and I reach up to grab at his shoulders, eyes swollen shut and trembling.

I think that I would like him to push his claws into my sides… run me through and watch me leave slowly. Instead, he pushes them into the tightness of my entrance. He is merciless and I know that soon I will bleed there, too. No piece of me will be left untouched or unturned… untarnished. I finally cry out, begging tears finally filling the resistance of my eyelids. He is pain. He is my pain, and more. He is the pain of all the worlds I’ve ever known… ever loved. 

I am consumed, owned, and violated to the very depths of my soul. It is tortuously slow, the process of killing me. He bleeds me of all life force, and I have no choice but to go within and accept, and resistance is futile and dangerous. It brings on a separate, sinister agony that I cannot bear to cling to. I am much more content grasping onto the little hope he offers me… the little pleasures he allows me. He allows me so much life, even while he is demanding it from me.

Sometimes he is gentle, but now he is not. He is rough, and even as I beg him to stop, he only pushes harder… only holds me tighter. “Ahh- please! Please don’t… no no no no! Please!” I beg and whine, and my voice is so small, for once matching the rest of me. I could order him to stop if I pleased. It could be so simple, but it is not that I cannot do it, I simply will not. I do not want to let this pain go. It is the only thing that keeping me alive… keeping me from drowning. He knows this. I know that he knows this. Even still, he’d do it all anyway… he enjoys my torment. I enjoy him.

He pushes himself against me, and I can feel the stickiness of blackened, dried blood scraping off the insides of my thighs. When he slips inside he spreads fire into all of me. I cannot ignore it, and so I dig my flattened nails into his scalp and scream. He rips past whatever it is that I am trying to hide, and a torrent of untamed tears spill over my screaming hot cheeks. “No!” I wail, gasping and panting, searching for air as if I am falling and it is slowly slipping away from me. He only growls, slips a hand into my hair, and tugs.

He will not stop. I do not want him to stop. I want him to ruin me. I know that he will kill me. I open my eyes, and the world is glossy and fragmented. Everything is dark, and I cannot remember how he got me here. I cannot remember why I am here. Why am I alive? Am I alive? I do not think that I am breathing. I do not think that I am real. He is real. He is as real as he cam be with those dark, infernal eyes and that wicked baring of his teeth. 

Despite the pain my physical body is in, I see myself harden as he pushes himself into me. I lament at this, and I find that I am trying to pull chunks of his hair into my hands. I pull and pull, and still it only pushes him on further until he is knocking the breath out of me and I have to let go. He rubs mercilessly at the fresh wounds he has already inflicted, spreading blood across me and turning my milky skin a bright, ugly red. I push back onto him. My hands slide against the blood and bring it with them as they paint crescents up to the sides of my head. Wet palms press against my ears, trying to block out the white noise persisting all around me, but the sound originates from inside my poisoned mind, and it will not quiet. 

Wetness spreads across my stomach, groin, and thighs, and I hear his breath hitch above me. His bloodied hands drag through the fresh urine and spread it up my stomach. I cannot breathe. I cannot care. I tug at my own hair and wail some more, knowing that my cries will never reach past this bedroom’s door. They will never reach the bodies and angels of my broken home. They will never run screaming up to haven and plead, “this is what you did to me”. They disappear into his mouth as he kisses me, praising me although I cannot listen, “good boy, let it out… give it all to me.” 

It is not that easy. It is never that easy. All will and autonomy has been taken from me. If he wants, he will receive. If he suggests, it will be given. Love does not exist, only hunger and madness… only dependance and necessity. Love is the very fiction that shallow waters insist to cling to. I am not a stream. I am every ocean, and I am lost in my own waves.

Even as he is tearing me from the inside, and even though I begging no, a mantra chants inside my head “yes yes yes yes”. It bounces off the white noise and only gets louder the harder he fucks me. Finally, I ask him to fuck me harder. I want it harder. I need it harder. “Harder… please! Do it harder, Se- ahh!” He complies, inhumanly, of course. He wraps starving fingers around my swollen shaft to pull and push relentlessly. I come too quickly for my own good, back abruptly arching off the bloodied, soiled sheets.

He does not care. As soon as I am empty he rips himself from my broken body, dragging me up to face that awful intrusion. A clawed hand grips at my cheeks, and he pushes his head past my bitten lips. He strokes the rest of him with his other hand, and as I plead up at him with wetted, bloodshot eyes and worried brows, he comes onto my tongue. It is bitter and putrid, and I want to spit it out as if it is made of glass and sand. He does not let me. He pumps himself across my soiled tongue until he softens in my mouth, and only then does he release me. 

There is nothing left to spit out, and so I lean over the bed to vomit, clutching at the sheets and at my own skin. There is blood and piss and come everywhere, soiling the sheets and pillows… and there are two large, bloodied handprints left along the headboard, left by Sebastian in the midst of fucking into my abused body.

I pant dizzily over the side of the bed, waiting for the final retractions of my stomach to ease. I feel as though I may just tip off onto the ground, spilling myself into the puddle of my own sick. Instead, I feel firm arms grabbing at me, and though I resist somewhat weakly, I finally relent and let him pull me to his chest. My sweat-damp hair clings to his shoulder as he lays me upon it. I shudder, a deadly concoction of sighs and sobs escaping the depths of me. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad was it, little thing? You did so well,” he is spinning… the whole room is spinning as he whispers, “you liked that, didn’t you?” He strokes along my hair, winding and curling his now humanoid fingers into it. He reaches down to pull across my swollen and bruised wounds. He brings his hand up to lap at the blood before feeding me our mess. I close my eyes and swirl my tongue around his crooked finger, sucking at the sickly copper. A last whimper escapes me as my head clears and slows… and finally quiets. I decide that for the time I will not speak, not necessarily out of avoidance of his question, but out of exhaustion from trying to convince myself that I do not want to reply with “yes”.


End file.
